


fresh from your war

by sevenminutes



Series: St. Berry Trilogy [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-18 02:57:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3553484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenminutes/pseuds/sevenminutes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>when you feel the world is crashing all around your feet, come running headlong into my arms...</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	fresh from your war

**Author's Note:**

> Please, read and tell me what you think! Seriously, comments absolutely _make my day_. ♥ Title and summary taken from "Breathless" by Better Than Ezra. (It's seriously like the theme song for this fic. So good.)

Rachel sighed as she unsteadily walked into the small bar. This place, the site of her Friday night ritual of karaoke with her two best friends, was familiar and comfortable. It was a welcome change from the weight she constantly felt every other second of her life recently.

To be on a stage, relaxed and happy, singing her heart out…nothing felt better right now.

She went to the bar, smiled at the regular Friday night bartender, and ordered her usual Tom Collins. This week had been harder than usual and she couldn’t wait to finally be done with her degree in another week. After that…well, she’d figure it out.

She sat down at her usual table in the back and started to run through the list of songs in the forefront of her mind tonight. She took the orange slice off the side of her glass and bit into it, watching the door for her other two friends.

 

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

Jesse walked purposefully into the dimly lit bar and straight over to the small table in the corner. Just what he was looking for.

Flipping through the binder quickly and finding exactly what he wanted, he handed a small slip of paper to the heavy-set, bearded guy next to the table. The guy looked at what was written on the paper and back at Jesse, narrowing his eyes.

Jesse just raised his eyebrows and grinned arrogantly in response. Oh, he could do this.

He stood in the shadows while he waited; let his eyes settle on the table where Rachel was sitting with two of her friends. She was different. Sure, she was older (and he thought, hotter). But there was something else. He could barely see her face from where he was standing, but he saw her clothes.

Long gone were the bright, bright tights and short, short skirts that the Rachel he once knew and (still) loved wore. Tonight, she was wearing a long black skirt and a soft black cardigan. The only things that hinted at the Rachel she once was were the black flats with a funky arrangement of beads and jewels scattered across the toes and a lace-trimmed fuchsia tank top peeking out from beneath her sweater.

Her hair was long, like it had been when they dated, hanging down in flowing chocolate waves to the middle of her back. He watched her brush some of the shiny locks over her shoulder, and suddenly his hands were itching to touch it. It was pulled back from her face and he was reminded of the similar style she had been wearing that first day at the music store.

Had he been any closer he would have seen the abundance of smoky eye makeup she wore these days to hide the dark circles she'd constantly carried with her for the past six months.

The guy on the stool gestured to Jesse and he picked up the mic, taking a deep breath. It was show time.

 

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

Staring into the bottom of her drink, Rachel heard some familiar opening notes play from the speakers at the front of the bar.

“Welcome Jesse to the stage! Take it away, man!”

Force of habit, after hearing the name, she looked toward the stage. She never actually expected to see him. _Never._

But there he was, raising his hand to sing into the microphone, looking straight at her, trademark arrogant smirk firmly in place.

_“Please allow me to introduce myself, I'm a man of wealth and taste...”_

“Wow,” her friend Lucy commented, eyeing Jesse like a piece of meat. “He's _good._ ”

He was singing about sealed fates and bloody revolutions and screaming princesses; singing about the devil, but working the crowd like he was sent from God.

_Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name, oh yeah.  
But what's puzzling you is the nature of my game, oh yeah. _

_Sympathy for the Devil._ He always did have a flair for the dramatic. _That_ was still the same, even after all this time, and it was oddly comforting to her.

Rachel sat back in her chair and just watched him. She had always loved seeing him perform, even when he was her competition. Jesse on a stage was magical. (People thought she was too prone to exaggeration where he was concerned, but the truth was she really _did_ think he was all the things she said and thought. To her, he was all that, and more.)

He was so, so good. And so, so bad. She couldn't help but love him, all of him.

“Yeah,” Rachel agreed numbly in response, her eyes locked on Jesse's. “He is.”

She leaned back in her chair and let the familiar timbre of his voice wash over her. She never expected him to show up. Not here, not now. And yet, she was glad he was here.

The version he was performing was completely Jesse. The speakers on the stage blasted The Stones' background music, but Jesse had somehow managed to blaze his own trail with the vocals, borrowing both the mellow strength of Jagger and the theatrical energy of Axel Rose. It was intoxicating, captivating, and completely _him._

The way he smirked at her from behind the microphone told her that he knew _exactly_ how good he was.

*

The last time she'd seen him was when he showed up at Nationals in Los Angeles her senior year. Past regrets and betrayals forgiven, he had brought her a huge bunch of sunflowers (her favorite) and she'd felt that special spark when he placed them in her arms.

Her joy-flushed face beaming up at him had been too much, too hard to resist, and he pulled her into a deep kiss. She'd kissed him back for a long moment; too long, apparently, because when they broke apart she had cast a guilty glance over to her boyfriend and the rest of the team.

Her message had been clear, and he had understood. He'd just smiled softly and kissed her forehead whispering that he'd meet her on Broadway and maybe they would have a big love affair, but until then, he hoped she would be happy.

Then, before she had the chance to wish him the same, he'd disappeared into the crowd coming to surround the new National Champions.

When Finn asked who the flowers were from, she'd shrugged and brushed him off.

Their problem had always been when more people got involved. When it was just Jesse and Rachel, they were amazing, unstoppable. She had never felt as loved, desired, and accepted as she had with him.

More than once she thought that if soul mates exist, he had to be hers.

*

Rachel was snapped back to the present by Jesse slowly, deliberately weaving his way toward her through the small tables arranged between the bar and the stage. He was steadily making his way over to her with an achingly familiar glint in his eyes.

He reached her side and lowered his voice, singing directly to her, huskily demanding _courtesy, sympathy,_ and _taste_.  
  
She smirked up at him, heat in her gaze, refusing to let on if she would grant him anything at all. It was an easy, comfortable game to fall back into with him.

Apparently the exact reaction he was looking for, he made one last slow circle around her table, blue eyes locked intently on brown, before he turned to go back to the stage and finish the song.

He stared into her eyes, and suddenly she felt like they were the only two people in the bar.

 _What's my name?_  
Tell me, baby, what's my name?  
Tell me, sweetie, what's my name?

 

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

“Ladies, this is Jesse. Jesse, this is Lucy and Madison.”

Jesse flashed his most charming smile at the two other women sitting at the table.

“A pleasure,” he responded smoothly to the introductions. “Mind if I join you?”

“Actually,” Lucy said with a conspiratorial glint in her eyes, “We were just leaving. But you were great up there,” she added, slipping out of her chair.

He didn't have to see the wink Lucy threw at Rachel over his shoulder to know it was there. College girls weren't nearly as subtle as they thought they were.

Jesse sat down in the chair that Rachel's friend had just vacated, and smiled at her.

“Hi,” he said, and she felt herself falling for him all over again. It was the way that he could look at her; talk to her, make her feel like she was the only girl in the world.

“Hi,” she responded, unable to stop her smile from overtaking her face.

In that moment, after their breathless greetings, neither one of them knew what to say. They both stared at one another, neither blinking, until the tension dissipated into huge grins and murmured, quiet laughter.

They were here together after so long, and neither one of them knew what to say, or where to start.

Jesse, ever the gentleman, took the leap.

“You're graduating next week,” he said with a slight questioning tone, smiling.

She’d been at Carnegie Mellon working toward a BFA in Music Theatre for the last four years, and he couldn’t be more proud of her for following her dreams.

She silently nodded, slowly stirring her drink with the two small black straws wedged in between the ice cubes, her face suddenly expressionless.

“Well, what are you going to do? Finally moving to New York?” he asked hopefully.

She smiled, but it wasn't happy. Not even a little bit. It was strained and painful, and all of a sudden she looked like she wanted to cry.

“Moving to Columbus, actually,” she said shortly. He felt like he was missing a big piece of the puzzle. New York had _always_ been the plan.

“Ohio? Why?” he asked, sounding like she'd just broken his heart.

She slowly shifted in her chair and bunched the left side of her skirt up around her smooth, firm thigh, revealing a thick black brace wrapped around her knee.

"If I ever hear the words 'break a leg' again--" The statement hung in the air, unfinished, broken off by a harsh sob.

Jesse felt the wind get knocked out of him, and his heart dropped heavily to settle in the pit of his stomach. He swallowed thickly, staring at the brace, knowing what this meant, but still needing to ask.

“What happened?” he demanded, quickly cutting his eyes up to her face.

Her eyes filled with tears faster than he'd ever seen before. He blinked, and suddenly there they were there, shining in her big brown eyes. They weren’t falling, though, and he knew it must have been sheer force of will keeping them in check.

She took a deep breath, sucking as much oxygen into her lungs as she possibly could. No matter how many times she told the story, it never ever got any easier.

“I was driving home for Winter Break, for my _last_ Winter Break, and I was in an accident,” she said simply. Slipping into what he could tell was a very familiar story, she told him, “A guy swerved to avoid hitting a cat and he hit the back end of my car, sent me across the road, into a guardrail. My knee was crushed a little bit between the steering column and the door that took the impact. I'm _so lucky_ it wasn't more serious, or at least, that's what everyone says,” she remarked bitterly.

“But, after it heals completely--"

“No,” she cut him off bitterly. “Every doctor I've seen, including the best knee specialist in the Midwest, they all tell me the same thing. A physically strenuous career, _like Broadway,_ is practically impossible now. They don't even know how my range of motion has been affected yet. I could potentially be having surgeries on and off for _years_ just to keep it functioning,” she emphasized, trying to make him understand the severity of the situation. “Everyone has been trying to tell me that my life isn't over, but can you just be sad for me? You're the one person that's supposed to _understand._ ”

“I am sad for you, Rachel.”

Suddenly, he got it. The pieces clicked into place.

She _can't_ let herself believe that there's hope. She's in mourning right now, and she just needs someone to be there for her.

“I'm so sorry,” he murmured, reaching for her hand on the table.

She squeezed back tight, gripped his hand to remind herself that he was finally back. She wanted this to last, wanted him here with her, as long as possible.

“Let's get out of here,” she said suddenly in an overly-bright tone for what they'd just been talking about, rising from her chair and standing in front of him. “Would you like to see my apartment?” she asked quietly, looking a little nervous.

“I thought you'd never ask.”

Because, truly, he never thought she'd ask that. He never expected her to let him in again.

 

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

“This is it,” she said, flipping on the light.

The apartment was like her, Rachel Berry all grown up. Everything was still yellow and pink with stars all over the place, but it looked less like she had used Pepto Bismol to decorate. The living room he was standing in had a soft rosy glow that was tasteful, mature.

His eyes locked on a decorative star statue in the center of her mantel. It was abstract and silver. When he walked over to it he saw her high school graduation date engraved on the base, and figured it must have been a gift from Shelby or her dads.

He almost thought that she'd lost her unique flavor when her playbill collection caught his eye.

He laughed softly and looked at the open decorative box containing the thick stack of playbills. He was just about to reach out and thumb through them when a gentle yet authoritative voice behind him said, “Don't even think about it.”

He turned and Rachel was right there behind him with a glass of wine in each of her hands.

He gratefully took a glass from her, smiling lightly. He held her gaze for a long moment, trying to figure out just what was running through that gorgeous head of hers.

She turned away from him quickly, suddenly walking over to sit on the couch. He heard her take three deep breaths, saw her close her eyes.

He watched from his place next to her mantel, silently logging the movements in the back of his mind.

“So, how did you find me?” she asked before taking a sip from her glass.

“I was in Lima for my sister's wedding and I ran into your father when I was picking up a bottle of wine,” he responded smoothly, moving to sit next to her on the couch. “You didn't tell him about the egging.”

It was a statement, not a question, and it oozed his usual cool detachment. She could tell, though; there was something below the surface. He cared what her father thought of him.

“It's not exactly something I wanted a lot of people to know about,” she whispered, feeling the humiliation creep up her spine just as it had every time she remembered standing in the parking lot with her face covered in slowly hardening egg yolk. “But, what makes you so sure?”

Even as she asked the question, she knew the real answer. Because he knew her so well.

“He would have hit me if you had,” he told her bluntly. “He certainly wouldn't have told me where to find you.”

She nodded, taking a larger sip from her glass. She could only imagine what the six-foot-five African American man she called “Daddy” would have done to Jesse had he known about all the events of sophomore year of high school.

“Fair enough,” she said, reclining further into the corner of her sofa. “But all that's history now, so no need to relive it.”

“Yes,” he said quietly, an expression of remorse written more clearly across his face than she ever would have expected of him.

“Tell me about what's going on with you,” she prompted brightly. “I need some cheering up. How are you doing?”

“Things are going well. I start rehearsals for a revival of _Once Upon a Mattress_ soon.”

“Really?” Rachel asked excitedly. “When?”

She laid her hand on his knee, and suddenly Jesse was finding it harder to focus on answering her questions.

“In a few days,” he responded sullenly. He was happy about the musical. It was his first Broadway role, after all. But starting rehearsals in a few days meant there was no way for him to spend more time here with Rachel.

“Hey,” she reprimanded playfully, grinning. “You should be more excited!”

“I am...I just always thought you'd be there with me.”

And just like that, the energy in the room completely flipped. Her eyes filled with tears then, and he cursed himself for being so stupid. He didn't mean to remind her of her crushed dreams, but he also didn't want to pretend to be completely happy with his life. He really didn't want to rub his success in her face.

“Shit, I'm so sorry, Rachel. I shouldn't have--"

“No, it means a lot that you think that.” She was quiet for a moment, and he could tell she was waging a battle within herself about whether to say what she was thinking or stay quiet.

“I always pictured us in _Evita_ together,” she admitted unsteadily, eyes shut tight against the pain of dreams never meant to be realized.

He brushed his fingers down her cheek, getting her attention in the most gentle way.

“Me, too,” he admitted with a sad smile.

Their first kiss after four years was nothing like their kisses in high school had been. They were adults, and her dreams and her heart were broken. He wanted to help, wanted to take it away, wanted to show her that he was heartbroken, too.

That's how he ended up picking her up and carrying her to her bedroom, kissing away her tears a little more with each step.

 

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

He set her down gently on the bed, just looking at her for a moment. In the years since he’d last lay with her on a bed, she had grown from a girl into a woman. He took in the delicate, shapely curve of her hips and the noticeable fullness of her breasts. Then his gaze shifted and he finally ran his fingers through the silky brown locks that had been tempting him all night.

“Beautiful,” he whispered, bringing her face up for a kiss.

She kissed him back, her tongue moving with his, meeting him with equal fervor.

Jesse reached down and pulled her fuchsia tank top over her head. Tossing it behind him, he looked at her and smiled. She was wearing a fire engine red lace bra that echoed the emerging flush of her cheeks.

He laughed openly, brushing some of her chocolate brown hair over her shoulder.

He traced the edge of the plunging cup with his fingertips, said, “I always knew you were hiding racy underwear under all those secretary outfits and plaid skirts.”

Rachel grinned back at him, raising her eyebrows at the wink he sent her when he said that. Her fingers wrapped around his belt buckle and she started unhooking it, still not saying a word. She bit her lip, starting in on his button and fly.

When she looked up Jesse's grin had softened considerably. She didn't know what she possibly could have done to warrant him looking at her like that, like he never wanted to stop touching her.

“What?” she asked confused.

“You're still you,” he said, only realizing once the words left his mouth how cheesy they sounded.

But Rachel _really was_ still Rachel, and a hopeless romantic at heart, so she just smiled back and said, “Of course I am.”

He leaned in and kissed her then, because if he didn't, he would have ended up saying something neither of them was really ready to hear him say...yet.

During the kiss he used the weight of his body to push her flat against the bed. When he pulled back, he slowly slid the fabric of her skirt up her legs, letting it pool at her waist.

He turned his attention to her left knee, and he felt her tense beneath him. He gently unstrapped the brace from around her knee, and set it carefully aside. Sitting back, he really got a good look at her knee for the first time.

It was covered in scars; some so new and fresh that they had just barely healed, and were still red and stark against her olive skin. Slowly, he leaned down and started reverently kissing every single mark, all the causes of her shattered world, with soft, soothing lips.

It was intimate, and a little uncomfortable for Rachel. Here Jesse was, embracing all of her, comforting her, and all she could think was how much she hated that damn knee. Thinking back to the day she got _the news_ , she felt tears starting to run silently down her cheeks. The crying was almost an automatic response at this point, and she just didn't see that _ever_ changing.

Jesse moved up to lie next to her face-to-face, and wiped her tears away with the gentle tips of his thumbs.

She pulled him closer, gripping his shirt and starting to work on the buttons. Less clothing would fix this, she was sure of it.

He didn't object, and once his shirt was gone, he moved back down the bad and positioned himself between her legs. He took the waistband of her skirt in his hands, and looked into her eyes for a long moment, silently asking her if she was sure that she wanted to do this.

The skirt fell to the carpet with a whisper, and her panties followed soon after.

His jeans, her bra, his boxer briefs. The next few minutes were filled with intimate touches and soft glances that ended quickly as they undressed each other.

There was one moment of mumbled laughter when he got tripped up on her bra closure. Because, really? Jesse St. James, Mr. Smooth Operator _himself_ , couldn't get a bra unhooked.

He lay back down next to her, slid his hand against her stomach, his palm coming to a rest over her hip. Gripping her side, he pulled her close, and she eagerly plastered her naked body against his.

He pushed her onto her back and threw his left leg over hers. He groaned at the new friction and thrust against her hip, enlarging his already very aroused erection.

“Condoms?” he panted desperately, leaning over her to reach for the nightstand drawer.

“You mean you don't have any?” she asked, panic filling her voice.

She pulled him back up to look in his eyes. He looked surprised, like he couldn't believe, after everything, it came down to this.

“No,” he said, mentally kicking himself for not being prepared, even though he never expected for this to happen. “I know you won't believe this, but I don't really have a lot of one-night stands.”

She threw her head back against the pillow and groaned in extreme frustration.

He started to pull away once and for all, but she kept him firmly in place with her one hand on his shoulder blade and the other on his collarbone. He couldn't move away, but he also couldn't move any closer.

She closed her eyes and he could see her lips moving ever so slightly. It sounded like she was counting, but he couldn't be sure.

“Have you been checked out recently?” she asked quietly after a moment, staring intently into his eyes, begging him to be honest with her.

“I had a full physical last month because of a throat thing,” he said, meeting her gaze unflinchingly. “They checked for _everything_. I'm cleaner than that freakishly spotless kitchen your dads keep.”

She smiled, burying her face in the crook of his neck, because he remembered something so trivial.

“Then, let’s chance it,” she decided, shivering a little in his embrace. This was a huge step for them to begin with, but to be taking a chance like this with each other...that was monumental.

“Rachel. Are you sure?” This wasn't something they could take back once it was over. There was no way to undo it. He loved her enough, had want this long enough, that he was willing to take the risk.

“God can't possibly hate me so much as to kick me while I'm down with an unplanned pregnancy,” she said bitterly. “And, I really just want to feel _good_ right now,” she begged him.

“I can do that,” he promised, bending down to passionately kiss her, determined to make her feel as good as he possibly could. If she wanted to forget her problems (and the way her hips were moving against his told him she did) then, he would help her do that. _I would do anything for her_ , he realized, sliding down her body and hooking her right leg over his shoulder.

He placed gentle, light kisses across her stomach, slowly moving lower with each one. He kissed her left hip, so close to her he could barely stand it. His hand gripped the thigh slung over his shoulder, his fingers digging into the smooth, soft flesh harder than he intended.

She moaned, shifted a little beneath him, her body telling him that this was what she needed.

She loved him for giving this escape to her, she realized. She loved him for coming back just when she needed him most.

She looked down her body and saw him smirk before he lowered his head. Then...

Then, she felt warm, slick, textured tongue sliding over her. He explored her, taking his time to kiss, lick, and suck nearly every single place. She thought dimly in the back of her mind that it was almost like he was trying to memorize her, taste all of her and keep the feeling with him.

When he focused all his attention on her clit, she stopped thinking. All she was capable of doing was feeling. She felt his tongue, his lips and just enough of his teeth. He sped up his movements and, just when Rachel thought it couldn't get any better, he did...something else. She didn't know what it was, but she knew what it felt like. It felt like flying when he brought her over the edge, sent her spiraling into the best orgasm of her life.

He shimmied back up her body, her leg dropping off to the side, and when he kissed her neck, warm and sweet, she could feel the wet heat of herself on his lips.

“That was--” she panted heavily, breaking off laughing. Her entire body was shaking, but she took his grinning face in her hands and traced his lower lip with her thumb. Suddenly, this mouth was so much more valuable to her. It could do _a lot_ more than sing.

“Yeah? I aim to please,” he whispered, ducking his head in to kiss her long and slow. His tongue found its way into her mouth and she could taste her arousal still lingering there.

She reached out with shaking hands and took his dick in her grasp, never breaking the kiss. She stroked him a little; feather light touches that she knew would drive him crazy.

When they both pulled away to catch their respective breaths, she looked down at him. A soft, playful smile tugged at her lips as she looked at him, feeling her body heat even further.

“Like what you see?” he asked with an arrogant tilt of his mouth.

In response, she trailed a single fingernail slowly along his hard length until his grin slipped and Jesse was clearly straining to keep himself under control.

“Point taken,” he said around a short grunt of frustration.

“It is impressive,” she commented, doing her best to sound cool and detached, teasing. “But what can you do with it?”

“Everything,” he swore.

In that moment, with her spread naked and heated beneath him, Jesse would have promised Rachel the moon.

His large hands moved to her hips, shifting them closer to his own. He made sure she was spread out just how he wanted her, and Rachel felt a thrill race up her spine at the feeling of being so desired.

He entered her, buried to the hilt, and they both forgot to breathe for a full ten seconds. All he felt was hot, tight warmth completely enveloping him, and he nearly lost it when her muscles squeezed against him. All she felt was full, more so than she had in... _ever._

Once they both had taken a moment to adjust to each other, he started to move. Rachel could swear in that moment that she had never felt like this before, and never would again.

Their bodies moved in perfect harmony, a steadily increasing rhythm of gasps and moans echoing around them.

He'd always wondered. The feeling he got when he was singing with her was something magical and he wondered if sex would be an extension of that. It wasn't. It was more, better, indescribable.

She'd always wondered. She knew everything happened for a reason, but over the years she often found her mind wandering back to the hot and heavy make out sessions they used to share. Even though he hadn't been the first person she slept with, in a lot of ways he was the first one to really ignite her sexual side. She'd wondered if all the chemistry they had was just on the surface, or if it went deeper. Now she knew.

Being with him had always felt right, and sex was no exception. They were a perfect fit, and she knew no one else would ever be able to measure up to him.

His hands tangled in her hair, positioning her head just where he wanted it so that he could kiss her gorgeous, soft neck.

Rachel let him use his hands and lips and the weight of his masculine frame to tell her what to do. For once in her life, she was happy to let someone else be in charge.

His hands moved down to grip her thighs, and he raised them up around his waist. Obediently, she hitched them as high as her considerable flexibility would allow and hooked her ankles together. She ignored the pain starting to throb in her left knee and focused on Jesse pounding into her harder and harder and his hand palming her breast.

“Yes...” she hissed in his ear, gasping for more air, reaching out to lace her fingers with his.

“Rachel.” He somehow managed to get her name out through gritted teeth, before attaching his lips to her neck once again.

It was a warning from him, she knew; he was close. She started meeting his thrusts with more passion, rolling her hips and creating the perfect amount of friction against her clit.

She felt herself tumble over the edge headfirst, moaning breathlessly in his ear, her toes curling, just as his thrusts became a little rougher, a little unsteady. Her walls pulsing around him had him coming right after her, spilling into her and clutching her hand.

They both took a moment to come down from their respective highs, and she felt the sweat starting to cool on her skin. The only thing keeping her from shivering was Jesse's warm, hard, solid body on top of her.

She let her feet fall to the side and rest flat against the bed, while he moved from resting on his elbows, rising up on his palms. He gave her another kiss to her lips, short and sweet, and rolled off to her right side.

She stretched her left leg out, hissing at the painful stretch.

“You okay?” he asked. He hadn't even thought about her knee and now she had him worried that he'd hurt her.

“I'm fine, but I could use some Advil.” Her forehead was tightened into a slight frown and he instinctively reached out to caress her cheek.

“Where is it?” he asked tenderly.

“Medicine cabinet, right side.”

He left the bed and was back in record time, three brown pills and a glass of water in hand.

Rachel smiled gratefully as she took the pills from him, laughing a little.

“What?”

“The view of that lovely butt did almost as much good as the meds,” she commented after swallowing.

He rolled his eyes at her playful teasing. “Hey, you were in pain. I wasn't going to stop to put on clothes.”

She handed him the glass of water, an unspoken question passing between them. He smiled in thanks and drank half of the glass, passing it back for her to finish.

It occurred to her then that it shouldn't be this easy with him. He broke her heart...and then broke an egg on her face, she hadn't seen him in four years, and he lived a life completely different from hers. And yet, they had an undeniable bond that had somehow remained unbroken through all the things that happened between them.

He wrapped his arms around her after turning off the light and covering them with a sheet, and she pressed a light kiss to his bicep, smiling at him in the moonlight coming through her window. He smiled back and kissed her forehead before pulling her tighter against his chest.

She fell asleep feeling more loved than she ever had before.

 

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

Rachel was pulled from her sleep the next morning by Jesse wrapping his arms around her. She felt his hands sliding over her stomach and his firm chest pressing against her back. She thought it might be the best way she’s ever been woken up. She felt warm and safe and loved. She needed this, needed him.

But, she knew there was no way this could last. He had to fly back to New York today, and then she would be left to miss him and try to move on. And after she graduated in a week, she’d have to face moving back to Ohio and starting to live a soul crushingly normal life far away from him.

She took a deep breath to calm the onslaught of panic she was starting to feel, and resolved to make this day with Jesse a good one.

He heard her and murmured “Good morning, Miss Berry,” his lips brushing against the shell of her ear.

“Mmm, morning Mister St. James,” she smiled brilliantly at him.

She tilted her head back over her shoulder to kiss him sweetly. She smiled against his lips, allowing herself to get lost in the moment.

After she pulled away he shifted to rest his head on her shoulder, his cheek against hers. They both laid there quietly for a few minutes, just soaking in the early morning sunshine streaming through her window.

“Can I ask you a question?”

He sounded hesitant and a little bit nervous, very much unlike his usual attitude of brash confidence.

“Sure,” she responded uncertainly, questioningly, focusing on his fingers rhythmically stroking the hair behind her ear.

“You don't have to answer if you don't want to. I would completely understand,” he assured her.

She nodded, waiting for him to continue. She watched a bird sitting on her window sill in the bright light of the early morning, and she heard him take a deep breath behind her. His arms tightened around her a little as he prepared to ask the question.

“Who was your first?”

She was quiet for a long moment, trying to decide if she wanted to tell him. She knew what the real question was. _Was it Finn?_

“Noah,” she responded finally. “It was the summer before college, right after I broke up with Finn. We were both single. He was...what I needed, at the time.”

Jesse just nodded. There wasn't much to say to that. But then she kept talking, addressing his unspoken insecurity.

“I didn't want it to be Finn. His love was always conditional, you know. 'Be normal, Rachel, and then I can love you.' He never loved all of me, just the parts that seemed acceptable.”

It broke his heart to hear her talk about the boy she'd wasted two years of her life on like that. And, at the same time, he couldn't help but feel responsible for her feeling like it was okay for Finn to treat her like that. He should have let her know that she was rare and beautiful and deserved to be cherished, but instead, he'd scarred her.

“I love all of you.” He knew that couldn't undo what he'd done and said in the past, but he hoped it would help her heal.

“Jesse,” she said, a warning tone laced with the words. She didn't want him to say that. That wasn't something she could just forget.

“I do,” he professed. “You're amazing, Rachel. I've never met anyone like you.”

He kissed her neck just below her ear, and Rachel had to close her eyes against the feeling of being so loved. It was almost too much.

 

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

She was standing at her closet, flipping quickly through the clothes in front of her. She took out a long knit dress in a subdued blue-gray color and decided it would work for today.

“Wait,” came a voice from behind her.

Rachel jumped a little. She hadn't realized that he was out of the shower.

Jesse reached around her and grabbed a short bright plum pleated skirt from her “pre-accident” section.

“You should wear this today. You look great in purple,” he suggested with a smile and a peck on her cheek.

“That's very sweet of you,” she said, taking the skirt from his hands. “But I'm just going to be more comfortable in the dress.”

“Rachel,” he said softly. “You can't hide from it.”

He quietly retreated to get dressed, and left her standing tense and alone in her closet. Thoughts like _he didn't know what the fuck he was talking about_ filled her head, and she took a few deep breaths to calm down.

She threw the skirt in the corner behind her hamper, absolutely convinced that she wouldn't be wearing it for a few months, _at least._

She slipped on the long, drab dress and grabbed a khaki green cardigan off the hanger in front of her. She _really_ hoped the rest of their day together went better than it had started so far.

 

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

They were drinking coffee at her favorite little shop, the one with the aqua door two blocks from her apartment, when he said it.

“Let's find you a new dream.”

She looked at him, mouth agape. If only it was that easy.

“I don't _want_ a new dream,” she replied slowly, her eyes narrowed in disbelief.

“But you need one,” he told her gently. “You need something to fill the void. What were you going to do in Columbus?”

“Get certified to teach high school,” she shrugged. “Probably either coach show choir or teach theatre.”

“You can do that anywhere, though. Why Ohio?” he pressed. It had always been his role in their relationship to challenge her, to make her realize how resilient she was.

“I don't want to stay in Pittsburgh. Also, my dads are in Ohio, my whole extended family,” she said like it was obvious, like she had no other choice.

“But you can visit them, right?” he prompted, staring at her intently.

“Yes,” she said slowly, wondering where he was going with this.

“Come to New York,” he said simply, like it was the most logical thing in the world for her to do.

"Jesse--"

“I just--I think I need you in my life, Rachel. And I think you need New York.”

She looked down at her coffee cup, and swallowed through the emotion threatening to overtake her. She was fragile right now and she, quite literally, could not live through another broken heart from him.

“You _think_ you need me?” she asked tentatively, tracing the tan ring her cup left imprinted on the white napkin in front of her.

He was silent for a long moment, really considering if that's what he meant. But then he remembered the cold, empty apartment waiting for him in the city and the warm, bright smile on his sister's face as she started a new life with her perfect match.

“No,” he said finally. “I _know_ I need you in my life.”

"Jesse--" she started, a pained expression on her face.

He really didn't want to hear her tell him all the very good reasons she had for not doing it. He didn't want to hear that he was crazy, because one night after not seeing each other for four years was not something to build a relationship on. He didn't want to hear her tell him no.

“Just think about it,” he said quickly. “You have another week before graduation, and then more time after that. Please...don't say no yet,” he pleaded with her.

She nodded, and looked like she didn’t know whether to cry or run away.

“Let's just enjoy our time before my flight, okay?”

She nodded again, smile brightening, and reached for his hand. “What do you want to do? Want see anything in the city?”

“I've never been to Pittsburgh before, so I'll leave myself at your mercy,” he said with a smile and a wink for her.

“How do you feel about flowers?”

“Generally, I like flowers,” he said slowly.

She laughed, the sound filling the small coffee shop, and filling his chest with an indefinable sense of joy.

“We should go to the botanical gardens,” she said decisively. “It's...just really lovely,” she sighed happily.

“I'm sure I'll enjoy it,” he assured her. “For the record, I'd be happy just sitting in your apartment watching movies.”

“Yes, I know. But, I won't live here for much longer, and you'll probably never be here again. You'll be busy soon with your show,” she said, ending in a tone so full of longing that it made him sad.

“I'm sorry I won't be able to make it to your graduation,” he said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

“It's alright,” she told him. “Though I do wish you were able to attend, I know that you would if you could, and that's enough.”

 

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

They wandered slowly through the rooms of the large greenhouse, hands loosely linked together, stopping every now and again to look at the various flowers and plants more closely.

In one of the outdoor gardens Jesse pulled Rachel off the path to sit on a bench.

“I want to talk about New York again,” he said. He covered their entwined hands with his other hand, and told her, “I think you'd really like it. You could do so much there; music, acting. You have so much potential, and I just know you'd take the city by storm as soon as you got there. Also, selfishly...I want you there with me. I've missed you so much.”

She nodded to let him know that she was listening while she stared straight ahead at a large, sprawling, ancient tree in front of her. It was tempting to let herself fall into the dream scene he was painting in front of her. She wanted to believe that her dreams weren't really dead, just modified a bit. She _wanted_ to, but she couldn't.

Her eyes were unreadable behind her dark sunglasses, but when he saw a single tear escape, he knew he had his answer.

“I can't,” she said finally.

Jesse reached out to brush away the tear on her cheek and whispered, “Okay,” resting his forehead against her temple.

They sat like that for a little while, just holding each other and mourning the fact that he was leaving in a few short hours. Eventually, he decided to make the best of things. This was hard enough on her to begin with, and he didn't want her to think that he was mad or bitter about her declining to come to New York again.

“Come on,” he said, trying to sound cheerful. He pulled her up from the bench and said, “Let's get some lunch before my flight.”

 

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

“So, I guess you're not vegan anymore?” he asked, clearly amused, watching her attack the plate of food in front of her. He'd been visibly surprised when she'd said, _“BLT, sub turkey bacon, extra lettuce.”_

They were sitting side by side in a booth at her favorite lunch spot as their last stop in his mini-tour of the city. It was the perfect way for him to close his time with her. The only problem was he wanted it to last forever.

“Couldn't be,” she mumbled, swallowing the mouthful of fries she'd been chewing. “After my accident, two things happened. First, my grandmothers basically _moved in_ with me and my dads. Neither one of them trusted their sons to sufficiently care for their only granddaughter in her time of distress. They kept saying I needed a woman's touch.”

“And how did that end your veganism?” he asked, watching her dip a sweet potato fry in the ketchup pooled on the side of her plate.

“Well,” she said, swallowing again. “My Grandma Rose fed me matzo ball soup _at least_ four times a week. And there seemed to be a never ending supply of the World's Greatest Mac and Cheese courtesy of my Grandma Loretta. So. There went the veganism.”

“Sounds like an interesting convalescence,” he commented, reaching over to steal a fry off her plate.

“You could definitely say that. Part of why I couldn't strictly maintain my diet was the fact that my appetite was out of control because of the medications I was on. For the first time in my life I started to understand what it might feel like to be pregnant,” she laughed, tearing a piece of turkey bacon in half before popping some of it into her mouth.

Jesse just raised his eyebrows, numbly continuing to chew his burger. He'd found recently that growing older was doing peculiar things to him. Everyone he knew seemed to be pairing off or having babies, and Jillian's wedding had really done something to him, changed him. Things like looking up an ex-girlfriend he hadn't seen in four years, and asking her to move to New York to be with him? They didn't seem so crazy now. And now, it seemed, being older was suddenly making him think about how this tiny, amazing spitfire would be as a mother.

He knew what it was, he'd heard enough about it. He was in the throes of a quarter-life crisis. But regardless of what was making him examine his life and want to change it, if the changes meant being with Rachel, he'd take it.

“Seriously, though,” she continued chattering on, oblivious to Jesse's thoughts, “You have to try my grandma's mac and cheese someday. It's the best I've ever had.”

He had to smile then, because she was starting to resemble her old self and she thought they'd still be together...whenever “someday” came along.

“I believe you, and I'm sure I'll love it,” he smiled, resting a hand on her good knee underneath the table.

 

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

The time came for him to go to the airport and the hour had managed to sneak up on them both. A small chirp sounded from Rachel's phone, and just like that, the little bubble they had secluded themselves in all day was suddenly gone.

She rode with him in the cab, her fingers intertwined with his the entire way.

“Maybe you can come for a visit soon?” he asked hopefully, his arms wrapped around her as they stood in the lobby.

“Maybe,” she responded brightly, kissing him lightly on the lips.

She fully expected this would be the last time she saw him. She loved him, but love wasn't enough. And she was painfully aware that life was not a fairy tale. She needed to be realistic. If she was going to embrace a new life and find a new dream, she couldn't live in the clouds where she and Jesse were perfect and happy.

He deepened the kiss, but kept it slow and gentle. It was everything he had ever only been with her, loving and filled with longing.

He pulled back and pushed an envelope (that seemed to appear out of nowhere) into her hands.

“Here,” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets.

“Jesse--"

“That's my address in New York,” he said, cutting off her protest. “And there's some money for the cab ride back.”

She looked up at him and he was just as cool and collected as always, but she could see he was waiting for a reaction.

“I don't need this,” she told him.

“I know,” he insisted.

“It's too much,” she pointed out, counting the bills and remembering the cab fare it took to get to the airport.

“Take it anyway. Please. Think of it as a graduation gift,” he said, silently hoping she would use the extra for a plane ticket to New York one day.

“Fine,” she agreed, slipping it into her purse. She didn't want to spend her last few minutes with him arguing. “Thank you.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, rising up to kiss him for the last time.

He held her close against his chest for as long as possible. She pulled away first, a sad smile on her face.

“It's time for you to go,” she said, starting to cry just a little bit.

“Rachel, please don't cry,” he pleaded.

“I'll be okay.”

She reached out and brushed her hand across his cheek, and he realized that a few tears had managed to escape his own eyes.

“You'll be okay, too,” she said. “Now, you're going to be late. You can't afford to miss your flight.”

He nodded once, quickly, and started to walk away; holding onto her hand as far as their arms could reach.

She watched him walk away and her chest got tighter and tighter with each step he took. He was almost to the security line when he turned on his heel and ran back to her.

She was elated when he took her in his arms and kissed her with everything he had. She clung to him tightly for a long moment, her tears dampening his shoulder.

When she suddenly pulled away, turned to walk out of the lobby and the airport without a single backward glance, he felt devastated.

He understood, though. If he saw her tearstained face, he might not have had the willpower to get on the plane and she couldn’t let him do that. After all, Broadway was calling him. That was their dream, and he had the chance to make it a reality.

Parting was not sweet sorrow, he realized. It just felt like complete _shit._

 

**. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .**

He opened his door to head out to rehearsal for the day and collided with Rachel Berry in the hallway. He grasped her hips to keep her from falling over and automatically pulled her closer to him.

Five weeks apart hadn't changed her much. But, he noticed, she was wearing a short, short bright plum pleated skirt that looked _awfully_ familiar.

“Rachel, wh--"

“I don't know my way around the city, so you'll have to show me,” she said with an edge of panic in her voice, abruptly cutting him off, gripping his muscular forearms insistently.

“Okay,” he agreed easily, grinning at her like an idiot and wrapping his arms further around her waist.

“Also, I need somewhere to stay while I look for a place.”

“Of course. I wouldn't have it any other way,” he whispered, tilting her face up to meet his.

He kissed her slow and sweet, and she held on for dear life. New beginnings had always terrified her, but being in his arms made it better.

 

 

The End.

 


End file.
